The Storm
by dontwaitupxx
Summary: Stiles walks home from a party wasted. Caught in the middle of a snowstorm, he becomes the victim of a hit and run.


The Storm

A Teen Wolf Fan Fiction

By: dontwaitupxx

* * *

The raging party was coming to a close, but it was one that the students of Beacon Hills High School were going to talk about for the rest of their high school careers. The host, Anna, had been celebrating her sixteenth birthday, and the party was arranged as if a Lydia Martin had planned it: no invitations, no parents, no rules. If you were between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, you would have had no trouble getting in, which is exactly how Scott and Stiles made their way into the festivities.

They both knew Anna vaguely; they probably could say that she was a friend of a friend of a friend. It didn't matter however: at around nine when they rang the doorbell, Anna answered and seemed positively ecstatic that they had arrived at the party.

It was the middle of winter, and so the party was held primarily in her basement, mind the couples that wandered off to other parts of the house. The lights were dimmed and the music was blaring. The teens gave no mind to the amount of punch with mixers they were drinking, nor did they notice the ambiguous liquids being poured into the punch. People were looking, but no one paid any mind to it, nor did they care, because they all were having a great time, and they alcohol was helping to enhance that.

Yes, the alcohol did help to enhance that, as it also enhanced that wonderful feeling of a pair of rough hands holding Stiles to a firm body. Stiles had gone to the party with the secondary intention of hopefully hooking up with someone, and to finally be rid of his virginity, but he never thought that he would be the one to initiate it, much less for the action to be reciprocated. But after about five drinks too many, Stiles suddenly got the courage to grab someone and go for it, and after stumbling for a bit, he landed in a pair of strong arms and just went for it. He smashed his lips against the persons face, only realizing a split second before he closed his eyes that it was Danny. He would have pulled away had Danny not been so fast to react as he grabbed his hips and pulled him in. And so he went with it, because they were both so drunk, and both incredibly horny, and let's face it: alcohol turns even the straightest of us into bisexuals for the night.

Danny dragged them into the bathroom and sloppily shut the door behind him with his leg, swinging slightly closed, but not all the way, thus swinging back out slightly. He then grabbed Stiles' hips again and pinned him against the sink, rubbing himself up against him. Stiles moaned from the stimulation, grabbing Danny's hair as Danny sucked on his neck, marveling in the way he was being touched; being touched by hands that weren't his own, and he would be damned if he were picky about who was touching him, whether it be Lydia or Danny or someone else, because he was drunk – no, no – he was completely wasted and he was outrageously horny and he craved to know what it felt like to have hands touch him in places only he has touched; to have mouths suck on places that have never been sucked.

Danny looped his fingers around Stiles' front belt loops, pulling him closer as he attacked his mouth again. Stiles nearly cried out when Danny moved to his front buckle and started to dismember it, pulling down Stiles' jeans to his knees. Grabbing hold of him through his boxers, Danny gave it a slight squeeze, smiling against the kiss. He moved his hands up and under Stiles' shirt, feeling him. Stiles shivered under his touch and moaned, because damn, it didn't matter whether or not it was a boy or girl making out with him and feeling him up; the fact of the matter was, someone was making out with him, and that was really all he could think about.

Out in the party about twenty feet away from the bathroom, Scott was stumbling around, looking for Stiles.

Danny lifted Stiles up, sitting him onto the countertop and Stiles opened his legs for him, bringing Danny closer to him as he grabbed at Danny's hair. He felt Danny tug at his shirt and he let him yank it off, throwing it on the bathroom floor. Danny explored more of Stiles, along his chest, back, and the top of his legs. For a moment, he let his mind wander, and he imagined for a moment that it was Lydia that he was making out with, and not Danny. But Lydia wouldn't have stubble across her chin, nor would her hands be nearly as big as Danny's were; the ones that were raking across his back, sending shivers down his spine.

From the other side of the basement, Scott noticed the door to the bathroom slightly ajar, and wondered briefly if Stiles was puking before stumbling slowly over to investigate.

Danny travelled with his mouth farther down Stiles, sucking mercilessly on his neck, collarbone, chest, nipple. Stiles leaned back onto the countertop, loving every caress and touch that Danny delivered. He wanted more. He wanted Danny down lower, down to where his erection was now standing prominently through his boxers. He never thought he could have gotten this hard for a guy. Danny was at the top of his boxers, kissing along his happy trail, so close to where Stiles wanted him to be.

Had Stiles had not been completely wasted, he would have easily noticed the door to the bathroom inch open slightly, slightly amplifying the bass from the music right outside. But he didn't care. He was completely wasted and felt so damn good that he didn't care what happened. He would have noticed the "Ah, shit" elected from the doorway, and didn't realize that there was something amiss until he noticed a weight shifted off of him and looked up to see not Danny, but Scott.

Scott had drunk roughly ten less drinks than Stiles had, but that hardly meant that he wasn't drunk as well. He just wasn't in the "don't care, no problem" state that Stiles was currently in, and had enough common sense to know that Stiles had had enough fun for one night, and that, if he could remember anything at all the next morning, that he was going to regret about ninety percent of what he had done.

"Hey buddy," Stiles slurred, nonchalantly pulling his pants up and leaning over to hug Scott. Danny was propped up on the corner of the wall and the sink lightly giggling, looking ready to fall asleep right there in the bathroom.

"Come on, Stiles," Scott groaned, lending Stiles an arm for support under his shoulders when he nearly collided with the wall, "I think it's time that both of us head out".

"But the party's just started! People are still partying!" Stiles complained.

"Actually, no, Stiles, people have been leaving for the past hour now: it's two am. It's time for us to leave".

He gave a gentle push on Stiles, still supporting him, and they made their way over to the basement stairs. Somehow, they made it up the stairs and to the front door, where the pile of shoes had been picked over from the drunken teens that had already left. There were instances of shoes that had just one shoe in sight: no doubt, someone picked up the wrong shoe, put it on, and walked out in mismatched shoes. Miraculously, however, Scott managed to find both his and Stiles' shoes, and even more miraculously, he managed to get them onto Stiles. Grabbing their jackets, which were in a pile miles high on a piano bench by the front door, Scott opened the front door to leave, just to be met with a gust of wind and snow of which was not present when they arrived.

It was an absolute blizzard outside, and neither of them drove, knowing full well that they were going to be completely hammered afterwards. Anna's house was in the neighborhood, and wasn't terribly far away from either Scott's or Stiles' houses. Scott just hoped that the blizzard would sober Stiles up slightly for the full five minutes he would have to walk alone to get to his house.

Treading forward, Scott and Stiles made their way into the blizzard, grimacing at the way the snow and air bit at their faces. Would it be too much to go back inside and ask Anna if they could crash on the basement floor? Surely they wouldn't be the only ones to ask that, but Scott knew that he needed to get Stiles home. Stiles needed to be present, however that may be, when his father came back from his night shift at around nine am. Same went to Scott, who needed to be home by about seven for when his mom came back from hers. Sure, they wouldn't be awake until around dinner time the next day, and hopefully, Stiles would shower before he went to bed so he wouldn't smell so obviously like vodka, and maybe they could both blame the headaches they were going to have on the insane amount of studying they did the night before. Yeah, because _that _sounds like something they would do on a Friday night.

The snow was nearly up to their calves, and Scott could only be grateful that the show was coming in from behind them, rather than on their faces. They made decent time, and slight conversation, Scott asking briefly about his time with Danny, to which Stiles replied that it "meant nothing" and was "only a kiss". Well, that explained how much Stiles was going to remember in the morning. Scott hoped he wouldn't remember much either for the next morning, because the image of Danny on his knees about to give Stiles a blowjob would forever haunt him.

They reached the corner of the street, and it was where Scott and Stiles were going to have to part ways: Stiles up the street and to the left to make it to his house, and Scott to the right and to take a left. Scott gave a slight pat to Stiles' shoulder, to which Stiles almost stumbled to the ground, and Scott briefly wondered if he should walk Stiles all the way to his house. But Scott had to get home too to get rid of any and all evidence that he went to that party. Stiles did seem a bit more sober, however, so he felt a little bit okay with sending him down the street on his own.

"Alright, Stiles, I'll see you later, man," he paused, thinking and then continued, "I don't mean to be a mom about this, but text me when you get to your house so I know you got home okay, alright?"

Stiles giggled lightly, "Okay, man!" and nearly tripped on his feet. Scott reevaluated his decision to not walk with him home, but Stiles was already halfway across the street, so Scott shrugged and went his own way, knowing that there was a good chance he wouldn't get the text anyways even if Stiles did make it home.

On his way home, Stiles could not feel his ears. The alcohol coursing through his veins made him feel like he was a little bit warm, but that did nothing for his ears which had barely any circulation. But still he trudged on, his feet in his boots being the only part of his body that wasn't out rightly affected by the blizzard. He had his hands in his coat pockets, only protecting him slightly from the rigid air. The snow was piling up around him, making it more and more difficult to walk through, but Stiles kept pushing on, despite the undying need to just lie down and sleep. His street was coming up in his sightline – or at least, what he thought was his street: it was tough to tell in the blizzard and the darkness of the night. The street lamps provided whatever light they could, but it was fruitless against the storm; the snow particles picking up the light and blocking it from traveling.

By the time that Stiles reached his street, there was not a part of him that he could feel, and he was scarcely wondering if he were suffering from effects of hypothermia. He veered off from what he thought was the sidewalk – he couldn't tell because of the snow – and walked towards the street, in preparation to cross it. The snow was beautiful, and something that Beacon Hills got annually in the winter, thanks to its Northern California status, but the blizzard around him could have been postponed to a more convenient night – preferably a night where he wasn't trying to ski his way back from a party.

He stepped onto the street, listening to the way the snow crunched under his feet. He also listened to the sound of an oncoming car, never ceasing, speeding down the street. He didn't even pay it a second thought until it he was hit in the side by something unnaturally hard, the ground being taken out from under him, and his head hitting something hard and unforgiving. The air was taken out of his lungs, and before he knew it, he was rolling off of the windshield of a car, landing on the ground as the car screeched to a halt in the snow, backing up and driving around him, speeding off into the distance as if nothing had happened.

It was an ordeal that couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, but that ten seconds found Stiles in a heap on the cement covered snow, struggling for breath and completely disorientated, on top of being drunk and freezing. He saw red rain drop onto the ground from the sky, but looking up slightly, all Stiles could see was snow and darkness. Pushing himself up, he grimaced in pain from his side, gasping as a new stabbing pain arose there, making it nearly impossible to breathe, much less move. His head also hurt, but he didn't pay it much mind; he just knew that he still had to get home, and that sleep sounded like such a luxury.

In an attempt to pick himself up, he managed to get to both feet, and, clutching his side profusely, he began to take baby steps across the street. His side was blossoming into a pain unbearable and he felt snow melt and drip down the side of his head. His breath coming in rigid, labored gasps, he wondered just how badly the car had hit him. Since the rest of his body was completely numb by this point, and he could still feel the pain in his side and his head, he assumed the car had left quite the dent in him. If he could just make it across the street, he would be able to make it home. Mini goals, he decided then, would be his best friend. Instead of focusing on the super objective – that is, to get home – he focused in on the smaller, more manageable objectives: to make it across the street, and then to put one leg in front of the other, until he reached his house. He was so close. Damn. Where was Scott when you needed him?

He reached the end of the street and collapsed in the snow, having completed a grand total of one of his objectives. But he could not move anymore. He was so tired, and his side hurt so badly. He could barely breathe and just wanted to lie down for a couple of minutes. On the bright side, the cold outside didn't feel nearly as cold anymore.

_Two minutes_, he thought to himself. He would lie down for two minutes and then he would get back up and do the thing. What was that thing again? His eyes closed shut, and in the night, snowflakes landed peacefully on his eyelashes, lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Derek growled as the trail of the Alpha Pack ended, leaving him, once again, at a dead end.

It had been like this for weeks now. He, or one of his betas, would catch whiff of the ever-elusive Alpha Pack, and after following their trail for miles on end, and after much time wasted, the trail would end. Right there. Just like that. The Alpha Pack was completely toying with them, sending them in circles just to chase their own not-so-metaphorical tails, and as much as Derek didn't want to admit it, he didn't know what to do.

So, at around three thirty in the morning, he went back. Back to the abandoned train station where he and his pack had made their home. Back to his bed where he could rest and be ready to fight tomorrow if the battle ensued. The battle was at a simmering boil, and it made Derek nervous, especially since the head Alpha was able to get two of his alpha betas into the high school with_ all _of his pack. Why had it seemed like such a good idea to change a bunch of angsty high schoolers into wolves again?

The Alpha Pack had Derek constantly on his toes, and it was tough to be able to watch over his pack at all times. That being said, he knew that his pack could fend for themselves well in a fight, but it was his Alpha instinct that had him constantly on his toes: the instinct to protect his betas was overwhelming.

Derek ran back to his car and opened the door, knowing full well that his car could withstand the currently ongoing blizzard. But before he could slam the door against the frigid air, a gust of wind blew into his car, making him stop cold.

He faintly smelled Stiles, but it was the scent of him mixed with the tangy scents of copper and salt that made his blood freeze. Being an alpha, his senses were at an all time high, and could sniff out things miles away. That, and Stiles being unofficially a part of the pack helped too. Immediately, he had the door of his car shut and his phone to his ear, with Boyd on speed dial. Out of his three betas that stayed with him, Boyd was the most reliable, and quite frankly, Derek didn't feel like being hung up on by a bitchy Erika or fallen asleep on by Isaac.

A sleepy Boyd had picked up by the second ring, "What's up?"

"I need all three of you guys to help me find Stiles. I just smelled a waft of him coming from what was probably his house", Derek barked into the phone, turning the ignition on and speeding out towards Beacon Hills.

"Whoa, whoa, hey – is everything cool with Stiles?"

"I just smelled him, and then I smelled his blood – I swear, he better have skinned his knee tripping or something, with this Alpha Pack out there. You guys are a lot closer to his house than I am, and the weather is absolutely terrible; I'm about four miles outside Beacon Hills. I need you three to get there now and make sure he's okay", Derek was getting way too old for this job.

"We're leaving now", was Boyd's reply before hanging up the phone.

By this point, Derek had already made it to the highway in record time, but was still a good fifteen minutes away from Stiles' house – ten if he pushed it. Keeping an eye out for cops that did not scare him and watching for black ice were his only distractions, and they did little to ease the feeling of anxiety that kept trying to blossom over. Stiles was not pack by bite, but he was rather pack by natural bond, and Derek could almost feel that there was something wrong. It was everything he could do to keep his Alpha instinct from going into overdrive.

Derek had just gotten off of the high way and was only five minutes away from Stiles' house when his phone vibrated with a call from Erika.

"What's up?" Derek asked, not taking his eyes off of the road.

"Derek, something happened," Erika said, her voice bleeding traces of panic and anxiety, "Stiles – he's hurt, and he's absolutely freezing. He's almost blue. Isaac and Boyd, they just pulled him up out of the snow. He was entirely covered in snow and we almost couldn't find him! There are outlines of tire tracks on the road, but they're nearly covered up again by snow!"

Derek definitely sped through that last stop sign, "Erika, I need you to calm down. I need you to tell me if you smell any traces of the Alpha Pack being there. Any at all."

There was a pause on the other line, and Derek could faintly hear her sniffing out the air around them. He drove into Stiles' neighborhood, "No, I don't smell any of them".

So the Alpha Pack wasn't involved in this, "So it was just a hit and run then", Derek sighed, "I'm two seconds away", and he hung up.

And he was. He turned the corner and was nearly on top of them. Skidding to a halt, he saw Boyd and Isaac, with both of their winter jackets off, huddling around a lump of a person, which was wearing both of their jackets. Erika was standing outside of the huddle, looking nervous and fidgety, which was abnormal for her considering her persona.

Derek jumped out of his car and was hit with the scent of strong alcohols and blood, all coming from Stiles. He ran over to the huddle, managing to mumble out a "let me see" even with his mind racing. Stiles, underneath the jackets, was ice blue and breathing painfully. Derek could hear his heartbeat beating slowly from the cold and could smell the blood from more than just his temple.

"Isaac, Boyd, I need you two to get in the backseat with him and keep him warm; Erika, I need you to call Scott and ask him if his mom is home."

The quick exchange between Derek and Erika, and everyone was off. Derek jumped into the front seat of his car, cranking up the heat. Normally, he would have sped off immediately, knowing that his pack knew better than to take their time getting into his car. But the two of them had precious cargo, and he didn't want anything else to happen to it. Erika got into the passenger side, already on the phone and listening as the phone rang. The car of werewolves listened in as well, being able to clearly hear the phone ring alongside Stiles' irregular heartbeats and labored breaths. Had the weather been anything less of typhooning blizzard, Derek would have had Stiles shipped straight to the emergency room. He was so fragile, so human, and it was obvious that this wasn't something that Stiles could just sleep off.

It was so tempting; to give Stiles the bite. It would be a win-win situation: Derek would be able to keep Stiles safe and his pack would, in turn, become stronger with the addition of a werewolf. He wasn't sure what stopped him from giving Stiles the bite, but something told him that it just didn't seem right.

Glancing back through the rearview mirror, he saw Stiles shivering against the blankets and the two wolves that were huddled around him.

"Isaac, Boyd, lay him down and figure out where he's hurt," The Alpha commanded, keeping the worry buried from his voice.

"Scott didn't pick up," Erika said, panic tracing her voice.

"Try again," Derek's eyes flashed red, making Erika whimper submissively as she pressed call again.

The two wolves stretched Stiles out between them, Stiles' head resting somewhere on Isaac's lap and his legs bent near Boyd. Instinctively, Stiles tried to curl in on himself to keep him warm, but Isaac held him still as Boyd carefully went through the jackets to get to Stiles. Isaac felt the wound on the side of Stiles' head seep slightly onto his arm.

Boyd lifted up Stiles' soiled shirt gingerly, being careful not to catch it on anything, "Uh Derek," Boyd said, his voice wavering a miniscule, "His right side is caved in. He's got at least three broken ribs."

Isaac took one look at Stiles' misshapen right arm, "His right arm also looks broken."

" Clearly, he was hit on his right side. Can you guys check for anything else on the right side of him that's injured?" Derek asked from the front seat, debating whether or not to speed off to Scott's house before he answered his phone.

"Nothing else looks banged up except for the side of his head," Boyd commented, bringing the jackets back around Stiles.

"Scott, is your mom home?" Erika barked into the phone, momentarily masking her emotions behind her standard wall.

The voice on the other end was thick with sleep, "Yeah, why? Is something going on?"

Derek stepped on the gas upon hearing this, heading towards Scott's house.

"Scott," Erika said, "It's Stiles."

A beat, "What happened? What's wrong with Stiles?"

Derek's eyes flashed red, and he snatched the phone from Erika, "Stiles got hit by a car in a hit and run and was left out in the snow. Where were you during all of this?" Derek asked, barely keeping the beast inside.

"What?" Derek heard something being knocked down on the other line and the sound of a scrambling person, "I was with him barely an hour ago! What happened?"

"I just told you. He's in a really bad shape, and we can't get him to a hospital because of this damn weather, so we'll be on your street in fifty seconds". Derek hung up.

A soft moan from the center of the jackets brought a hush over the crowd, and Stiles' eyes opened so slightly, squinting in the darkness, "Danny?"

"No buddy, it's just us: Me, Boyd, Erika, and Derek," Isaac said softly, unconsciously cradling Stiles' head, "You're in the back of Derek's car. You got hit pretty badly back there. Do you remember what happened?"

"No," Stiles moaned, groaning into his side, "I can barely breathe."

The car accelerated to an unnatural speed in the icy weather, "Just hang in there, Stiles, we're gonna get you Scott's house in just a couple of seconds," Isaac's voice cracked, and he gripped Stiles' left hand in his own, leeching out as much pain as he could, and gasping at the intensity of it all.

Derek spun onto Scott's street, sliding slightly on the pavement. He drove up to Scott's house and saw Scott being a doll and shoveling the front walkway. Before the car came to a stop, the backseat car doors were open, Isaac grabbing all of Stiles and jackets and Boyd rounding the car to help. Melissa McCall stood in the doorway of the house, still in her pajamas with a hand over her mouth. Isaac and Boyd ran up to the front of the house with Erika quickly at their heels, but not Derek. The three of them were ushered inside by Mrs. McCall and Derek did a round about and had Scott up against the side of his house by his collar, his eyes flashing red dangerously.

"You are damn lucky I was out keeping tabs on the Alpha Pack or else I would have never smelled the blood and Stiles would be dead. Where were you two this last night?" Derek growled, keeping his wolf in check, but just barely.

"Man, cut it out!" Scott pushed against him and Derek growled, eyes flashing red again, "We were at some stupid party and we got drunk, okay? I walked about halfway home with him before we went our separate ways. That was about an hour and a half ago. I thought he'd just go home and pass out on his couch, I swear! I didn't think he would get hit by a car!"

"You don't get it," Derek growled, "You let him walk halfway home alone, drunk, _in a blizzard_. Not to mention the Alpha Pack out there that wants some sort of leverage on us. Stiles is that leverage, that _weakness, _and they had a clean shot on him tonight."

Scott paled, "It was the Alpha Pack that hit him?"

Derek let go of Scott, walking a few steps away, "No, it wasn't. As far as I know, it was someone who either didn't see Stiles through the blizzard, or someone who slid in the snow and ice trying to stop and ended up hitting him. Either way, it was a hit and run and that's what makes this situation more terrifying than an attack from the Alpha Pack."

"Derek, I don't get it -"

"Of course you don't get it!" Derek barked, "You're a foolish kid, and you don't realize it. What makes this terrifying is that there is nothing supernatural about what happened to Stiles. He is put into harms way time after time with werewolves and kanimas, and he comes out fine and stupid, but the thing that ends up hurting him is a car. You know, the kind of stuff that happens every single day. Stiles is so fragile, so human compared to you and I. We get hit by a car and we are walking like nothing happened an hour later. Stiles… _if _he makes it out of this, I don't think he'll be the same again. Maybe mentally, yes, but he'll have scars from this, and he'll remember tonight, and he'll remember what brought him down and his pack to their knees when an Alpha Pack couldn't: an accident. We can protect Stiles from attacks. We can't protect Stiles from accidents. _That's _what makes this situation more terrifying."

Scott looked lost, "I… I'm sorry," his voice cracked, "Stiles is my best friend; he's like a brother to me. I would have never left him if I didn't think he would have been fine."

Derek didn't say anything more, he just walked towards the front door, Scott trailing behind him like an injured wolf.

Inside, the house was beginning to reek of blood, and both werewolves wrinkled their noses upon entering. Stiles had been laid across towels that had been laid across the couch, and Isaac and Boyd were stationed near his head, alternating between keeping down his shoulders and gripping his left hand to suck out some of the pain. Erika was off in the corner of the kitchen with four cell phones, raising them up towards the ceiling.

"You guys should have called an ambulance," Melissa said, as she wrapped blankets around Stiles' feet, "Stiles is in critical condition, and needs medical attention. It's too late to call for one now, that blizzard outside can't be driven in, and Erika's in the kitchen trying to get a signal."

"Mom, how can we help?" Scott asked, fidgeting.

"Well, you can start by lighting some candles, I can't imagine the power is going to stay on much longer. Better yet, get a start on the fire in the fireplace. That'll first provide some heat and light," She turned her attention towards Isaac and Boyd, "I need one of you to hold his legs down, I need to take a look at his injuries and I can't have him curling in on himself and making it worse." She turned towards Derek, "I need you to get the first aid kit for me out of the hall closet for me." She turned towards Isaac, "Can you run to the kitchen and grab some scissors? We won't be able to get his shirt off over his head -"

Isaac reached over, and, grabbing the bottom of Stiles' shirt, ripped it from bottom to top in an effortless tug. Melissa stared at him.

"You know, that was completely unnecessary, but I appreciate the theatrics." Melissa said, completely straight faced. She shrugged off Stiles' ripped up and soiled shirt as Derek came by with the first aid kit.

"I can't believe this is all I can do for you right now, kiddo." Melissa sighed, bringing her attention to his bloody side. Stiles' eyes shot open and he gasped when Melissa pressed a towel against his side and began applying pressure.

"Okay, new jobs, all of you!" Melissa said, keeping the pressure on his side to halt the bleeding, "Distract Stiles, keep him awake. That blow he took to his head might have caused a concussion, and the last thing he needs is to fall back asleep."

"Holy shit, if this is what a… a hangover… feels like, then… then I won't drink tomorrow." Stiles stuttered out through the pain.

"Stiles, how much of that awesome party do you remember from last night?" Scott asked, putting himself into Stiles' sightline.

"I… I remember kissing someone… I don't remember who… Do you remember who?" Stiles asked, panting.

"No," Scott lied, and all of the werewolves heard the blip in his heartbeat, "I don't." He subconsciously batted Isaac's hand away and gripped Stiles' good hand as hard as he could, pulling as much pain out as he could muster. Instantly, Stiles' face went slack, as though he were high on weed, only to be erased when Melissa removed the now red towel from his side. His face paled, and he closed his eyes, squeezing them out from the world.

"Hey, _hey, _Stiles, look at me!" Isaac said, beckoning him awake. Stiles squinted his eyes open, moaning when Melissa spread an ambiguous antiseptic onto his side, "Talk about something – anything! – you're always talking about something; what's on your mind?"

"… The pain." Stiles groaned, "I can barely breathe and I am exhausted right now."

"You'll get to sleep once you get checked out by a doctor to make sure you don't have a concussion." Melissa said, putting down the antiseptic and switching to a gauze.

The lights above them flickered, and then completely shut off, the only lights in the room came from the fireplace and the few candles they had.

"Scott, bring those candles closer." She pointed to Isaac and Boyd at either end of the couch, "I need the two of you to lift Stiles up carefully so I can wrap this around him. We do that, and the tough part is done. Scott, go grab some blankets from the hall closet, He's gonna need them to bring his temperature up from being outside in the snow for so long."

"He's got a lot more color right now than he had when we first found him." Derek piped up, the lone wolf in the corner.

"You guys did good to keep him warm when you could, but he's still shivering and he's far too cold right now." Melissa said, as she wrapped up his side, "But him being awake right now is always a good sign. It'll be keeping him awake once he's snug under the blankets that'll be the problem."

Scott came back with a dozen or so blankets towering over his head as Melissa finished up Stiles' side. Isaac and Boyd laid him down gently, keeping him still as to prevent him from curling in on himself to keep warm. Scott brought the blankets to his mom, and she began tucking them around Stiles up to his chin. By the fifth blanket, the shivering had decreased tremendously, and Stiles had an almost glassy look to his eyes. Melissa left the rest of the blankets up against the wall and moved in to look at his head. She whipped up the blood that had begun dribbling down Stiles cheek, and noticed the half dried wound.

"Well, it looks like the wound on the side of his head has already begun to close up," Melissa half murmured to herself, heard acutely by every wolf in the room, "I wonder how it could begin healing so quickly…"

All the wolves were pretty aware of the answer to that. Leeching the pain out of Stiles meant that the specific area had nothing in the way of it healing. With that head injury healing, Stiles was going to be just fine.

It was nearing seven am when the pack finally got a cell phone signal, "We might as well just drive him to the emergency room," Derek stated, "The plows have been out and there's no use waiting for an ambulance to get here," He paused, "Besides, if Stiles' situation were life threatening right now, I think he would be in a much worse condition."

While Isaac and Boyd helped maneuver Stiles out to the backseat of Derek's car, Melissa moved to the kitchen to grab one of the cell phones to call the long forgotten Sherriff, since they had a phone signal now. She thought it would be best he heard it from her, rather than from Scott, or worse, Derek. Before Derek could move out to his car, Scott held him back.

"You know, I'm feeling rather good about this," Scott admitted.

Derek gave him the most confused and judgmental look before Scott continued, "Hear me out man. Just listen. I've been thinking about what you told me earlier, about not being able to protect Stiles from these types of things. Stiles was able to trump this speed bump in the nuts, and we'll always be around him to protect him when it comes to all things supernatural."

Derek nodded slightly, and turning around towards the door, he said, "You walk him home from now on."

Scott sighed, "Alright."

Derek's eyes flashed red, "You walk him home like he is constantly your date. Stiles is your new Allison."

"Okay, now hold it here, nobody can be Allison," Scott said, stifling a laugh, "I mean, Allison is just amazing…"

He was glared at by a set of red eyes and fangs.

"Well, I mean, Stiles is pretty amazing too! I mean, have you listened to him… talk… at all…?" Scott gulped, "Yeah, yeah, I'll walk him home."

And he meant it. Because Stiles was fragile and porcelain and human and was the glue to their pack. And he was going to be okay.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
